


i'll make the time

by sarcasticfishes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3b Didn't Happen, Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:59:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had a schedule; he had a <i>strict</i> schedule that he adhered to without exception because he didn’t have time to do it any other way. In fact, sitting down at a rickety wooden table to watch his spin cycle and sip his coffee was arguable the only definite downtime he got during the week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll make the time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nashirah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nashirah/gifts).



> Nashi wanted fluff and love confessions and I wanted to write EXACTLY THAT, eep. Not beta'd, I'm so sorry :( Feel free to point out my mistakes if any :3

'Delicatessen' was probably one of the best discoveries Stiles had made in all his twenty-and-a-half years. If one could be considered a regular at a Laundromat-come-Café, Stiles was definitely that. He had a schedule; he had a _strict_ schedule that he adhered to without exception because he didn’t have time to do it any other way. In fact, sitting down at a rickety wooden table to watch his spin cycle and sip his coffee was arguably the only definite downtime he got during the week. 

Stiles looked forward to Mondays and Thursdays more than he did the weekend. It was definitely because he got to relax. Derek had nothing to do with it. Nope. (Okay, no. It was totally because of Derek.) 

Derek did laundry on a Monday and a Thursday too. It had started off as Stiles running into him as he downed the last of his coffee and tossed his clothes back into his basket, their timing always just slightly _off_ and one leaving as the other arrived, and then it turned into Derek showing up earlier and earlier, until eventually they would meet at the storefront at exactly 14:25, and Derek would hold the door open and god, Stiles kind of blushed every time. 

Ridiculous. It was ridiculous. Because this was _Derek_ , like, Derek Hale. Derek, who definitely made Stiles’ teenage years a little miserable and frantic and disastrous and mournful. 

Four years had done a lot to Derek though. Stiles knew that during his Junior year, Derek and Cora had taken a trip to South America and Derek had returned more chilled than any of the pack had ever seen him. Sure they still had their monster-of-the-week problems, living in the literal hell mouth of the Beacon Hills Basin, but even Scott mentioned that Derek seemed much more easy-going than before, and Cora too was less biting and quick to the quarrel. 

Eventually things quietened down, the pack swelled and ebbed with new wolves and various supernatural entities passing through town, and the teens graduated, dispersed around the country to colleges. 

Stiles stayed in Beacon Hills, both he and Allison studied in the community college (Allison studied Business and French, and Stiles went with History and Economics) and shared an apartment in the town. Most weekends Scott came up from San Francisco to see them, Kira in tow. The four of them had lunch (another rare downtime for Stiles) and then split again. Stiles had a Saturday class in Economics and Scott had extra hours at the veterinary hospital he apprenticed at. It was familiar and comfortable, and he enjoyed it. 

But he enjoyed seeing Derek too, because that was new and pleasantly strange, and if there was one thing Stiles had learned to love over the years, it was all things new and strange. 

A lot of things about Derek fell into that category. Like the way Stiles would smile for hours after they parted. The way the heat rose in his cheeks when Derek slid into the chair across from him with their coffees. The way Stiles had to bite down hard on his lip at Derek’s shy smile (Derek’s! Shy! Smile!!!) if their hands brushed while loading clothes into the machines. _Feelings_ , Stiles was having. Strange and new ones (and remember, Stiles loved all things strange and new). 

It was a Monday when things took a tilt, and Stiles couldn’t decide if it was for the better or worse. 

He sat down at their usual rickety table, and tucked his feet in around the legs of his chair, watching Derek order two of Delicatessen’s cheap but surprisingly good coffees from Frau Müller. Stiles didn’t know how they did it, but it was better than paying twice as much for something half as good at Starbucks. 

(Aaand, he was going to have to put a quarter in the _Desecration of Starbucks_ jar that Allison had set up for him at home. He could swear as much as he wanted, but not a single ill word was to be spoken about Starbucks. Not on Allison’s watch.) 

Derek was wearing that red sweater that Stiles always liked, loose and soft and pulled down over his hands. He looks like he rolled straight out of bed, hirsute, ridiculously handsome. Stiles felt warmed deep in his stomach, and he hadn’t even gotten his coffee yet. 

Derek smiled softly as he sat down, pushed a mug across the surface towards Stiles. Their ankles bumped, stretched out underneath the table, but neither of them pulled away. 

“Late night?” Stiles asked him. 

“Could you tell?” Derek replied, lifting his mug to take a sip. 

“You look a little dishevelled is all,” Stiles smirked, and he nudges Derek’s calf with the tip of his sneaker, feeling bold. 

“The couple upstairs have a new-born,” Derek said, by way of explanation, “And I woke whenever it did. So I apologise for how awful I must look.” 

“I said dishevelled, I didn’t say _awful_ ,” Stiles said, and then swallowed a scalding mouthful of his drink to shut himself up because _wow_. 

Derek smiled down at his hands against the grain of the table, chuffed out a laugh. 

“How’s school?” he asked, and Stiles almost sighed in relief at the quick change of subject. 

“Good. Fine. I was actually thinking of— my course is just basic History? I was thinking of branching off into something more specific.” 

“Like?” 

“Like, lore.” 

“Lore,” Derek said, eyebrows jumping in surprise, “Is that- can you do that from History?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded, “Lore _is_ history; where and when it comes from, what it is, and its effects on modern society.” 

Derek got this strange look in his eyes, nodding in support, “Yeah. Sounds like you know what you want to do.” 

“I do,” Stiles grinned, “I’m dropping Economics. I don’t know why I chose that. Because I was good in high school maybe. I’m excited about this though, feels like I’m making a move in the right direction.” 

Derek seemed to sit up a little straighter at the word ‘move’ and Stiles’ chest constricted a little. 

“Will this new direction be taking you away from Beacon Hills?” 

His voice caught a little, as if he was trying to sound casual and barely managing, and Stiles had to tamp down a shout of joy. Because it almost seemed like Derek would miss him if he left. 

“I’m hoping it won’t,” he said, “There’s always the chance I’ll have to transfer. Sometimes it’s unavoidable but I’m looking for online courses. I have a lease with Allison, and even where I live now is just on the borderline of too far away from my dad.” 

“You have commitments you can’t break,” Derek said with a nod. Stiles watched his machine from the corner of his eye. He could see his old lacrosse jersey in there, his favourite pair of jeans swirling next to it. He’d have to remind himself that the jersey can’t go in the tumble dryer. 

“I have a routine, man. I mean, I’m always busy, but I like that, y’know? I like always having stuff to do.” 

“You never have free time, Stiles, how can you enjoy that?” 

Stiles gave him a wild look, tipping back in his chair. He gestured around him. 

“I have free time. Look at me, enjoying my free time.” 

“You’re doing laundry,” Derek deadpanned. 

“Yeah but I enjoy it,” Stiles bantered back, “I look forward to it.” 

Derek looked astounded, hunched over in his seat now, coffee cup abandoned on the table and hands clasped between his knees. 

“You enjoy doing laundry.” 

Stiles’ breath caught on an inhale, and gushed out of him in a laugh. It would be so easy right now- just to say it. Say anything. 

“No, idiot. I enjoy _seeing you_.” 

Derek’s face, already open and honest, only softened even further, and Stiles could just _die_. He could count on both hands the amount of times Derek had given him that look. One hand, if he was counting the times where they weren’t in mortal peril. 

“So. Yeah. I guess if I’m counting reasons not to leave, then. Dad, Allison, _you_.” 

It was hard to find words to describe the look on Derek’s face just then. Something like subdued awe and relief. The rest of the spin cycle was spent in a comfortable silence as Stiles got up to transfer his load into the dryer, leaving his jersey out in the basket. 

Derek squeezed his shoulder gently as they turned and parted ways, but not before he could slide his palm down around Stiles' bicep, squeeze there too, and it felt like all the air left his lungs in the split second. 

“See you Thursday.” 

“It’s a date.” 

He wasn’t sure why he said it, but Derek’s sudden grin as he glanced back over his shoulder only proved that it’d been the right decision. 

*

Allison was sitting at the breakfast bar in their little apartment, her books spread out like a fan in front of her. 

“Hey,” Stiles grinned, flung his bag of fresh laundry into his room and headed straight for the fridge for a drink. 

“Bonjour,” she replied, “Je suis extrêmement fatigué.” 

Stiles opened a can of his Red Bull and, living with her long enough to pick up a few of her French phrases, offered it to her. She shook her head, chin in her hands, and he shrugged and drank it himself (like he didn’t have _enough_ caffeine in his system already). 

“What day is it?” Allison asked him suddenly, eyes narrowing. 

“Monday. Why?” 

“Was wondering why you seemed so chipper,” she replied, a knowing smile on her face as she turned back to her books, “How’s Derek?” 

Stiles didn’t even try to hide his grin. 

“He seems really, really good.” 

Allison perked her head up a little, “Really? Did something… happen?” 

“You’re nosy,” Stiles said, pointing at her, “And nothing _happened_. I just _happened_ to add another person to my list of People Worth Staying in Beacon Hills For.” 

Allison grinned. 

“You would make a good pair. You know, whenever I see him in town he asks about you.” 

Stiles fixed her with a hard stare, mouth working but no words coming out. Allison spoke offhandedly, but he knew that the comment was anything _but_ offhanded. 

“No. No I did not know that. You never told me that,” he grabbed a barstool and pulled it in to sit opposite her. He closed her book, forcing her to look at him. 

“He asks about me?” 

“Don’t you have a yoga class to go to?” 

“Shut _up_ , I can skip it in the name of love.” 

“Love.” 

“Shut _up_. He _asks_ about me?” 

Allison beamed at him, cheeks dimpling as she grinned around the pen between her teeth, “Just stuff like, asking how you are, how you mentioned you were swamped with assignments or your dad was feeling poorly. General curiosity and concern.” 

Stiles was, surprisingly, at a loss for words. He never really thought that Derek listened to his incessant rambling. Derek’d ask how he was doing, and it was like gasoline to a fire, Stiles would talk and talk, and it was often hard to shut him down. Most people tended to tune out. 

Derek listened. 

Derek _listened_. 

Cared. 

Derek. Cared? 

Listened and Cared. 

(!) 

“Ugh, you sicken me,” Allison winced, moving Stiles’ hand off her book and opening it again. 

“Like you have any right to judge. You were and _are_ just as bad.” 

“You’re gonna be late for your class. I think you need it, you’re looking a little fidgety and tense.” 

“Yeah I’m pretty sure my blood is more caffeine than plasma right now. I’m gonna run to the gym.” 

Stiles slid off the stool inelegantly and ducked into his room off the kitchen, changing into his running gear and throwing his yoga stuff into his rucksack. He couldn’t tell if the tightness in his shoulders was from where Derek had touched him, or the fact that he was running off schedule because of it.

*

Wednesday morning Stiles was leaving for his Medieval European History class when he came face to face with Derek as he swung open the front door of his building. For a moment he was too shocked to react. It was kind of the first time in years he’d seen Derek outside of 'Delicatessen' or a formal function. And there he was standing on the sidewalk – with what looked like Stiles’ old jersey in his hands. 

“Hey. Morning.” Derek said, as Stiles fought to get the strap of his satchel over his head. 

“Morning. Hi. Is that mine?” 

“Yeah,” Derek said, “Uh. I think I took accidentally it on Monday. Only found it last night.” 

“How’d you know I live here?” Stiles asked, not accusatory or anything, just curious. 

“Allison’s invited me over a few times. It’s always been bad timing on my part but I remembered the address. Or, _hoped_ I remembered.” 

“Could have texted me.” 

“Where’s the fun in that,” Derek said, “Maybe I wanted to see you.” 

Stiles stepped closer, taking the shirt and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“You’ll see me tomorrow. Like you do every Thursday.” 

Derek shrugged, “Wasn’t soon enough.” 

Stiles stepped a little closer, laughing, “You’re saying, you couldn’t wait twenty-four hours to see me?” 

Derek looked at his watch. 

“Twenty-nine hours and thirty-two minutes, actually.” 

Stiles mouth went dry at the weight held in such a simple sentence. It took him everything he had not to lose his cool, not to throw himself at Derek then and there. They weren’t the people they used to be, and he knew that who they were now could make this work. He wanted it more than anything. He was running late and he didn’t even care. 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

It’s new. It’s _strange_. Derek, so eager to see him, counting down the minutes. It’s breathtaking. 

“I think you kind of live for that though.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed. “I— love it.” 

Derek’s eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t been expecting such an honest answer. But in that moment Stiles couldn’t think of one quick witted, snarky response. He was blown away. Thoroughly swept off his feet by the simplest gesture. 

“I love it so much I’m thinking about skipping class.” 

“That’d mess up your schedule though.” 

Stiles pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head. 

“Nope. No, I’m just rearranging it,” he looked at his watch, “I can pencil you in for some nine-thirty kissing.” 

“Nine-thirty kiss-” 

Stiles clamped his palm down over Derek’s mouth, effectively shutting him up as he watched the seconds tick by on his watch. 

“In three, two, one,” he lifted his head, smiling widely, “ _Now._ ” 

“Oh god,” Derek choked out, just as Stiles reeled him in by the front of his sweater, pressing their mouths together in a kiss, a fierce, enthusiastic, _passionate_ kiss, that was four years in the making. Or. 

Maybe it was right on time.


End file.
